With You, I Am Home
by cupofdaydream
Summary: A collection of drabbles following Eren and Mikasa's relationship through various scenarios.
1. Ice Skating

**Warnings: minor swearing**

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**1. Ice Skating**

It's the same old routine: she doesn't run quite as fast, and doesn't jump quite as high. It's more for her sake than his, really—she can't bear the idea of leaving him behind, and so she resolves to move forward _with_ him rather than alone, even if the former takes a bit longer than the latter.

So, naturally, when he asks her if she knows how to ice skate, Mikasa replies, "This is my first time skating." And it's the truth, even though she feels steady on her feet—the ice not all that treacherous.

"It's not that hard," Eren says, conveniently slipping and falling to his hands and knees at the same time. "Come on," he offers his hand and _she_ pulls him up.

She imagines that they're probably quite the sight: she, steady on her feet and her counterpart rather wobbly.

"Are you all right?" she asks when he takes a particularly nasty spill.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says, waving away her hand. "You just have to make sure that your legs are positioned at the right distance away so that your stance is stable."

She nods politely, and pulls her scarf up a little higher to conceal the smile of amusement tugging at her lips.

Jean lets out a laugh as they pass, and her earlier suspicions are confirmed. "Is this your first time on ice, or something?" he scoffs.

"Fuck you, she's not that bad," Eren spits back.

"Idiot, I was talking about you."

"You wanna go, Kirstein?"

"Yeah. Yeah I do. Let's settle this with a race. From one end of the rink to the other. Connie, call the start."

The two boys make their way to the opposite side of the rink, and it's more than obvious who the loser is. The others gather beside Mikasa at the finish, eager spectators of a comedy rather than a thriller. And when Connie calls the start, they're off—Jean makes a beeline for the finish, and Eren heads straight for the ground. He doesn't get up.

Mikasa flies over the ice, her scarf billowing out like the tail of a kite behind her, she nearly knocks over Jean, his fists raised in triumph, as she rushes past.

"Eren!" she cries as she nears his side, the blades of her skates kicking up ice as she slides into a stop. She can just make out a defeated "that bastard" from underneath the dusting of ice.

Mikasa bends down.

"Sorry," she says, helping him wipe the ice from his clothes, "Are you ok?"

"I've got ice down my shirt," he replies, shivering.

Despite some minor bruising, it's really his pride that's taken the bulk of his fall; he refuses to look her in the eye when she helps him up.

"I thought you said that this was your first time skating?" he asks, still teetering.

"It is," she says. And it's the truth.

He sneezes, and it throws off his balance for a moment.

"You could've gone off on your own, you know. You don't have to stick around for my sake," he says, and she wonders for a moment if she's only ended up putting more pain to his pride. But he only sighs, and curses when he nearly falls again.

"I don't mind being with you," Mikasa says, every so quietly into her scarf.

If he hears her, he gives no indication, hastily turning away, and doing his best to skate away.

"Come on, let's head back. I want to get out of these stupid skates," is all he says.

And maybe it's because it's cold, and he refuses to wear a hat, or because he was just covered in ice, but his ears and cheeks seem to take on a deeper shade of red.

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**A/N: So I decided that I'd make a separate collection where I could post prompts and other short pieces I come up with. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Scarf I

**A/N: The setting is where the manga currently is (around Chapter 52). For something a bit more angsty, be sure to check out my ongoing story, "For All Who Remain.? Thank you, Anonymous, for the request!**

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**2. Scarf I**

"Hey," he hears from behind him, and Mikasa takes a seat to his right on the stoop. "You shouldn't be out here. It's cold."

"I can take care of myself," Eren says without looking at her. And though he wishes it were true, he knows that there's more than enough evidence in existence to disprove his words.

He hears her sigh, and rise to her feet, but not before wrapping something around his neck.

"At least wear this," she says. And then she's gone.

At first he thinks it's her scarf—it's roughly the same color, and around the same size—but it's not nearly as worn as hers. "Where the hell did she get this?" he wonders aloud to himself.

And even though the wind gusts a little bit stronger, even though his teeth chatter and his shoulders shake, Eren throws the scarf to the ground, crossing his arms with a "humph," and reasoning that he'd rather feel cold than like a dependent child.

**. . . . .**

It's not until the next day, when he bumps into Armin, that anything registers as out of sorts.

"Where'd you get that," Eren says, gesturing to the very loud, orange scarf around Armin's neck.

"Oh, this? Mikasa knit it for me last night," Armin replies.

"Wait, she _knit_ that?

"Yeah."

"So it's _handmade_?"

"Well, that is what the word 'knit' implies," Armin says.

Eren curses as he runs out the door.

He makes three rounds around the cabin—he even checks the stable—but the scarf isn't anywhere to be found.

His curse startles the horses when he realizes the childishness of the situation.

**. . . . .**

"So what's so special about this scarf?"

"Please, Sasha, could you just keep an eye out for it?"

"I don't know. It's pretty hard to search on an empty stomach…"

"Fine. You can have half of my lunch for a week—don't look at me like that! That's plenty! All right! I'll throw in dinner too, but that's it. If you find it, I'll make it two weeks."

"Three weeks. Seventy-five percent. Plus breakfast."

"Forget it. Deal's off."

**. . . . .**

Somewhere in between bargaining with Sasha and nearly getting into another fight with Jean, Eren hits a mental wall: why the hell should he care so much? It's just a stupid scarf! And since when did the maintenance of personal possessions become an indicator of maturity? Hell, if he were a _real_ man, he would never have cared in the first place.

But when he spots Mikasa out of the corner of his eye, he dives straight into a snow bank. And the fear on his mind at that moment is not his own image, not what she'll think of him, but that she'll be upset—that she'll _cry_. Strangely enough, it's a real fear that she won't be mad with him, that she won't scold him, because, hell, he _deserves_ to be scolded.

It is then that Eren realizes that the preservation of his pride isn't his real worry, and that giving up isn't a real option.

**. . . . .**

"Maybe if you weren't so damn untidy, you wouldn't be in this mess," Levi says, and even though he's sitting, he's still as intimidating as ever.

"Yes, Sir."

"How dumb can you get? You just left a scarf lying around?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And now you want _me_ to clean up after _your_ mistake?"

"Yes, Sir—wait! No! I mean, no, Sir," Eren stutters. "Well, I guess, _sort of_, Sir."

"Get the hell out of my sight, Eren."

"Yes, Sir."

**. . . . .**

"Hey," he hears her voice from behind him, and this time, when he doesn't respond, spite is not his motive.

He really ought to apologize, or, at the very least _say_ something, but before he can, she wraps something around his neck. And he can hardly believe it when he sees it: roughly the same color, around the same size, though not nearly as worn as hers.

Eren gapes at her, incredulous.

"It's cold outside," Mikasa says with a small smile and a shrug.


	3. Rumors

**A/N: I felt really inspired by a fanart and headcanon I saw on tumblr by user glitchgoat (/post/70526029853), and I also thought that this would work really well as a prequel to "**_**When You Break**_**," another one of my Eremika fics on FF. Updating this collection is really dependent on how many smaller fics (ones under 1k words) I whip out. The third and final chapter of "_For All Who Remain_," _another_ Eremika fic I have going, should be out soon. **

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**3. Rumors**

"I saw it happen. Last night," Eren hears across the room. He begins to wash the dishes as quietly as he can. Beside him, Mikasa places the pots back in the cupboard with deliberate care.

"You don't think that they, you know..."

"I can hardly believe it either, but what else would they be doing?"

"Dammit!"

The two boys peer over their shoulders to steal a glance: Connie with stunned curiosity, and Jean with more malice than usual.

Eren returns with what he hopes is an expression of ambiguity, and he and Mikasa leave the room together—just to give them a good show. They share a quick smile upon making it to the safety of the hallway, but they soon remember the reality of the situation, wiping the slates of their faces clean, and parting ways in a cold and solemn silence.

**. . .**

"You're leaving again?"

"Go back to sleep, Armin," Eren whispers back, his hand on the door knob.

"Look, Eren I know what you're really doing, and the others think—"

"I don't fucking care what the others think, okay Armin?" In urgency, the words come out much harsher than intended, and Eren inwardly curses. But they're not the only two awake. Connie's snoring has ceased, and Jean, usually quite the restless sleeper, has gone stiff.

"Goodnight," Eren says. He leaves without apologizing.

Tiptoeing down the hallway, he holds his breath as he passes the Lance Corporal's room, cringing when he hits a creaky floorboard, he makes it safely past.

When he opens the next door, he's met with the sound of Sasha's thunderous snoring in contrast to Krista's deep, yet light breathing. Ever so quietly, he takes a seat on Mikasa's bed.

"Did I wake you?" he asks when she sits up.

Mikasa nods her head: "But it's all right," she whispers.

He can see the lie in her eyes—the tears that gather in the corners, tears the darkness fails to conceal.

She pulls back the covers like she usually does. "Are you ok?" she studies him with care.

"Yeah," he says, climbing in beside her, "I just couldn't sleep."

That's a lie too.

They always start out this way: on opposite sides of the bed, facing opposite ways, because sometimes that's enough to get them through the night. Simply being in each other's company is sometimes all it takes to console their troubles and soothe their minds. Other times, it takes something more.

Her hand brushes against his arm. "Eren?" she says, her voice wavering.

Turning, he wraps her in his arms, and pulls her into his chest; her hands circle around his waist, her shoulders shaking and her breath coming out in hiccups.

"You'll wake the others," he warns, but even so, he holds her closer, his fingers tangling with the hair at the nape of her neck.

The others. Jean and Connie. In their minds, he's validated every one of their claims. Though really, what they say and think is the least of his worries. He'll take their stares of shock, and maybe even horror, over their looks of pity any day.

There is, at least, some small dignity preserved in the rumours that surround them. It gives them room to breathe within the cramped walls of the cabin which threaten to suffocate them if the veil of whispers were ever to be torn and reality revealed.

For if it helps to conceal the truth, if it hides the tears dripping off her chin from view, let them gossip, let their minds race to scandal, let them think that she pulls her scarf to her face to cover the condemning marks that supposedly stain her skin. So be it. It is a small price to pay.

Let them talk.

While it is the past that plagues her thoughts—the two parents lost to the blade of the knife, a second home and future crushed in The Fall—it is the future that troubles him most. He fears what lies await in dreams, what the nightmares will foretell—a transformation he cannot return from, the blood on his hands of faces he once knew, the evanescence of consciousness entirely—he's seen it many times before. And though each time they crawl beneath the sheets it's not to lose themselves in the throes of passion, but to cry like the helpless children that they really are, being with her assures him that he has a heart. A beating, human heart.

She's still crying. Her hand to her mouth, she tries to stifle her sobbing, and all Eren can do is pull her tighter, and pray that the tears in his own eyes don't fall.

It's on the worst of nights like this one, when he wipes the tears that roll down her cheeks, that he's reminded of how the cruelty of the world corrupts all that is beautiful, how it steals the breath from all that lives.

And sometimes he wonders if kissing her would stop the tears from falling, because sometimes holding her in his arms isn't enough. But he never summons the courage to find out. Never summons the courage to confirm the rumors.

In the end, it would be best for talk to remain talk.

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**Also, just a reminder that you can PM or leave me a prompt in the reviews any time. I can't promise that I'll get to it or do it (if it's extremely OOC I might not be able to manage it), but I'll do my best. Thanks for reading!**


	4. Guilt

**Warnings: spoilers for manga chapters 49-51 (for those of you who are solely anime watchers), recollection of character death, mention of injury**

**A/N: Hey there, ReviewRequest!Nonnie, hopefully this was sort of what you were looking for? I think I might've accidentally made it a bit more angsty than you may have wanted, though I tried to turn it around a bit... Also, symptoms of rib injury include pain upon breathing in some cases.**

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**4. Guilt**

She says that she's alright, but she's tense against his back as they ride, telltale winces and gasps slipping past her lips when they hit a particularly rough patch.

Eren calls back at one point: "How's your breathing?"

For a while, wheezing is all that answers him, the sound as alarming as any thundering footsteps, as chilling as any scream.

"Okay," Mikasa finally manages.

One of her hands gives the fabric of his shirt a reassuring squeeze, and Eren tells himself that it's the attention to the reigns, and not the guilt, that keeps him from squeezing her hand back, because this isn't right.

He had often dreamed of the day when he wouldn't need her to save him. When _he'd_ save _her_.

But there's no satisfaction in this. There's no sense of triumph in carrying her this way.

For even though he'd been the one to save them this time, there's that scene that keeps replaying before his eyes: where she'd thrown herself over him, that Cheshire grin looming overhead. And Hannes. _Hannes_. Both of them so ready to die for his sake, and one of them he wasn't so ready to say goodbye to.

He wonders, at what point did he become such burden? And it's when he looks around at the few who remain around him, that he realizes that he's witnessed this scene all his life-his mother telling him to flee, the recapture of Trost, the expedition beyond the walls, Hannes-he's always been a burden.

Her whisper is soft against the wind, and he feels rather than hears it: "Don't cry," she pleads, "Please, don't cry. Don't blame yourself."

The tears only fall faster.

"Don't speak," he says back, the tiny rivulets of water getting swept away on the wind off his face, "You'll just hurt yourself."

And so they ride on in silence.

**. . . . .**

It's dark by the time they reach the top of the wall. Eren slides off the horse with care, placing her grip from his waist to the saddle momentarily as he dismounts.

"Can you lean back?" he asks after, holding his arms out for her.

She nods her head, and she does: eyes closed and brow slightly furrowed.

Taking the sight of her in, he holds his breath.

And he knows it's because she's injured, but the way she's settled in his arms—silent, and unmoving—it's eerie. He once saw a man carry his new bride away in his arms like this. But he's also seen men and women carry broken comrades just like this too.

Fear distorts her image in his hands; her silhouette becomes a body of the past, and the past becomes the foretelling of a present yet to come.

His ears strain for the soft sound of her breathing, his fingers ache for the heat of her skin on his as he lays her down. Something, _anything_, to break this trance, this horrible vision of the future that he's caught himself in.

Then he hears it: "Eren," she says, "I'm alright."

And it is the sound of her voice that shatters the illusion fear has woven in front of his eyes. It is her gaze, the light behind her eyes, that reminds him of his will to fight for a brighter day, to strive to shoulder his own weight, to prevent his nightmare from becoming reality. The idea of a future without her is unbearable. He will not let such a thing come to pass.

"I'm sorry," he says back. And it is both an apology and a promise.

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**A/N: As you can see, I did break this one up into two parts that both, for the most part, could've stood on their own; however, I felt that the transition of Eren's state of mind—how his guilt and fear ultimately strengthened his resolve—was important to show.**

**Feel free to leave requests for me here through review or PM, or on tumblr! And as always, thank you for reading. **


	5. Lost

**5. Lost**

Eren knocks at the door, a plate of food in his hand, turning the doorknob regardless of whether or not she gives her permission to enter.

He finds her lying there, alone in her room, fingers trailing across her bare neck; she's refused to speak to anyone, and refused to eat, confining herself to solitude for the past couple of days.

"Someone's got to do it," they had said, eyeing him down. He hadn't responded, pretending not to have heard, and the extra serving of food on his plate went unnoticed.

Setting the dinner on the night table, she's unresponsive when he takes a seat at the edge of her bed.

"Does this mean that I get to shove bread down _your_ throat this time?"

His quip goes unappreciated.

"C'mon, Mikasa," Eren sighs, nudging her with his arm, "you've got to eat."

There's a pause, and then a rustle of the blankets and the creak of the bed springs as she sits up and slides over next to him. She stares at the utensils in her hands, and the plate on her lap, almost as if unsure of what to do with them, and when she takes a bite, she chews as if she has rocks between her teeth rather than food, her jaw moving idely slow.

Now that she's up properly, he can see the toll of the past few days: her eyes are swollen, the bend in her usually perfect posture, every once and a while, her fingers play across her neck, aching for the scarf that used to hang there.

He's been downcast for a bit too. As much as he hates to admit it, he'd formed a sentimental bond with the image of it wrapped around her, he'd grown used to the sight of her and a flash of red. He's over it now, though. It is, after all, just a scarf. In truth, it's much harder to see her in such a state.

Tearing the bread, it slips from her fingers and falls, rolling past her feet. She makes no move to pick it up, staring at it with a distant gaze.

Eren sighs, reaching down to grab it in her stead, and when he looks to her again, he catches the sight of her quivering lip, seeing past her attempt to conceal a sniffle as clearing her throat.

"We'll find it," he says, placing the bread on her plate again.

Little droplets fall to her lap. The light drizzle before the rain.

He almost doesn't expect her to answer, but then Mikasa says back: "We've looked everywhere!" And the floodgates open.

Her shoulders shake, and she covers her mouth with a hand to muffle the sobbing, the occasional hiccup escaping, much to her own embarrassment.

Eren takes the plate from her lap, setting it once more on the nightstand, and he takes the utensils still clenched in her grip. His hand hesitantly reach up to touch her shoulder, but his fingers curl back before they meet her, detouring to his back pocket to offer her a handkerchief instead. He's never been one to comfort.

Fingers curling round the cloth, she brings it to her chest rather than using it to wipe her tears, and then she lays across the bed once more.

"It'd be easy to get a new one," Eren says.

"That's not the point."

His chest pangs. For besides from the three of them—Mikasa, Armin, and him—that scarf really was one of the few things tethering them back to their lost days. But he shakes the thought, adamant not to be corrupted by such wistful feelings. After all, he can't hope to move forwards if he anchors himself to the past.

"Don't be stupid. It's just a scarf," Eren scoffs. "Besides," he continues, "you've got me." And then he lays down too, his arms pulling her into his chest. "I can wrap my arms around you better than any scarf ever could," he mumbles.

She's hesitant at first, but she circles her arms around him too. Her sobs decrescendo into silence, the rivers trailing down her cheeks finally drying, but something still doesn't sit quite right. He's got her held close, and yet she still feels so far away.

When she speaks, it's so quiet, he can barely hear her: "But what will I do if I ever lose you?"

And to that, he has no answer.

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**A/N: The last installment of "_For All Who Remain_" is up! Also, writing this absolutely broke me-the idea of Mikasa losing her scarf just makes me so inconsolably sad. Oh gosh, can we please just agree that her scarf turns up like a week later? Thank you, _hella-kun_ for the request! **


	6. Flower

**Prompt: **"Perhaps a Pt. II of Lost? My idea is the permanence of her scarf being lost. Mikasa slowly grows without it, but relies on Eren more to have her neck wrapped by his arms. This would build up some tension in their relationship, could lead to some love comedic scenarios, and can even bring the two closer than ever."_ —hella-kun_

**A/N: Sorry about the indecisiveness. Hopefully this fulfilled at least a little bit of what you had in mind? Anyways, I go into greater detail about the thought I put into this little drabble in the author's notes at the end.**

**Follows **_**5. Lost**_

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**6. Flower**

Later, she'll blame the wind for stealing the words off her lips. She'll say that she got caught up in the scene before them: the bubbling creek, the lush green grass below them as they sit side to side, almost shoulder to shoulder, the water buckets forgotten at their backs, the world so ethereal that it swept away her sense of reality and all reason along with the current. But here, in the moment, the three words roll of her tongue in consequence of nothing else but her own actions. Three little words. Three little, one-syllable words.

Eren doesn't say anything back, freezing only for a moment before going back to fiddling with the blade of grass between his fingertips.

And she'd be lying if she said that she weren't at least a little hurt by his lack of response, but she doesn't say it to hear it back. She says it so that he knows.

Because he has to know. He _must_ know. For in this world where people seem to vanish in the blink of an eye, she'd like to speak those three words aloud—just once—before she's swept away by fate.

"I keep having these nightmares..." Mikasa trails off in a quiet voice, speaking as if she can rationalize what she feels with words, she's haunted by the image of him disappearing in front of her, a flash of red hanging over his shoulders. Her fingers trail across her bare neck, remembering the days when a scarf used to lay there, and dreading the day when his arms will cease to take its place. It's an emptiness she doesn't like to think about. "What would I have if I ever lost you?" she wonders out loud.

Then she hears it: the murmur of his voice as he echoes her words. And when he turns to her, she at first mistakes his sternness in his expression and posture for anger.

"You don't need me," he says plainly, "What would you have without me? Without me the rivers still flow, and the rain still falls. Without me, the flowers still bloom." With that, he opens up his hand, a single daisy chain link resting in his palm. "You have the world. You always have," and taking her hand, he slips it on her forefinger.

Her hand still in his, he leans towards her before she has any time to process what's just happened, resting his forehead against her own.

"I love you, too," he murmurs. His eyes are clenched tight, as if he were deep in thought, and when his lips touch hers, it's with unexpected tenderness. But then his eyes flicker open, pink tinting his cheeks as he's brought back to reality. His gaze burns once more, the tender moment gone. "But don't think for one second that the value of your life starts and ends with me."

He rises without another word, grabbing the buckets behind them and heading down to the river.

Brow furrowed and lips pressed into a line, Mikasa observes the flower around her finger. His final words ringing in her ears, her eyes are transfixed on the empty spot of a missing petal.

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**A/N: This particular drabble was meant to answer Mikasa's last question in **_**Lost**_**, and in a way sort of sets in motion Mikasa realizing that she cannot let her attachment to Eren turn into a dependency, a dependency that only worsened with the loss of her scarf. There's also some symbolism with the flower and the missing petal, furthering the overall message.**

**Feel free to message me prompts here through the reviews or on tumblr. Thanks. **


	7. Fever

**Request: "Could you write something about a sick Mikasa and Eren very worried?" —mimii**

**A/N: Sorry this took a bit longer than usual****—t**hings have been a bit busier around here. I'm also on a huge _Atonement_ hype right now, and it definitely shows. Thanks for the request! 

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**7. Fever**

Three blankets piled high on top of her, and yet she still shivers.

Putting a damp cloth to her brow, Eren trails a knuckle across a flushed cheek. Her skin burns hot, and it evokes images of fifteen-meter corpses steaming in the streets.

Mikasa mutters in her sleep, incoherent nothings slipping out on labored breath as she tosses and turns beneath the sheets. And the fever pulls her far away, whisking her back in time: "Mother, Father," he makes out from her incomprehensible whispers, "Don't go. Don't leave."

He laces his fingers with hers, casting a rope out into open waters for her to grab ahold of before she's swept away in the sea of the fever and the murky visions of the past. Where she is, he cannot follow, wandering about in the depths of her own mind, she is lost to everyone but herself.

"Come back," Eren whispers against the skin of her hand, "Come back to me."

Tentatively, he presses his lips to her burning skin.

"Come back."


	8. Warmth

**EM Week 2013: Prompt 4**

**A/N: This was refreshing to write—I haven't written something in this sort of style in quite a while. I do have 2 or 3 more prompts in progress at the moment, but because of studies, I may not get them up until after Eremika Week 2014 is over. Thanks for reading!**

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**8. Warmth**

For her, love has always been this way: her father's stew, simmering atop the stove in the wintertime, her mother tucking her in at night, making sure the blanket covered each of her toes, and the soft crackle of the fire as she drifted off to sleep, sandwiched between her parents in front of its flame.

On that day, when the hearth of her home smothered, and she lay shivering on an unfamiliar, hardwood floor, she thought love lost for good. Sorrow is cold. Loneliness a chill on the howling wind. And there she was, left to brave the storm alone.

But then he came, a spark burning behind his eyes, and a fire roaring in his words; there was warmth in her world once more, and a scarf around her neck to remind her that it would never leave.

He's her summer boy—everything about him bright and warm. They share a brew of steaming coffee in the mornings, and become each other's heater when the furnace fails them at night. He's her sweater in the autumn, and her umbrella in the spring, her shelter from the rain and cold.

Love is warm. That much she's decided. It's burning nights of passion, flushed cheeks and a fluttering heart, the hearth of home alight no matter where they are as long as they're together.

For Mikasa Ackerman—though she's known loss and despair, though death is not an unfamiliar face—love has always been this way; and though time has altered its giver, stolen her father's soup from off the table and her mother from her side, its nature has endured. Love is warm. Home is love. And he is home.


	9. Merciless

**EM Week 2013: Prompt 7—Flower**

**A/N: Here's a very very late Eremika Week prompt. I still have one or two more coming. **

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**9. Merciless**

She never thought it possible to fall in love in a place like this. Not here. Not now. Not ever. But it happened all the same.

For who has the time to love—to brush a knuckle against a defined jaw, to get lost in eyes that shimmer turquoise and kiss rough lips—while the world breaks and shatters? No one. Time is something that evades them all.

But tragedy is a peculiar thing. And Mikasa thinks that maybe it's some cruel trick of life: that tragedy only makes people love harder, and fall faster, just so that it can rip it away once they've found it. Why here? Why now? How could a feeling like this grow from this crimson stained earth?

Because love is like a flower blooming in the ruins of disaster. No matter how the ashen gray sky seems to suffocate their lungs and muffle their screams, no matter how crimson and broken dreams litter the ground, life still breaks through the surface of the soil, the tiny sapling prevails.

Mikasa says the words—three tiny little words—over, and over, and over, and over: a desperate prayer as she holds him in her arms. And then his finger trails down her cheek.

"Why are you crying?" Eren asks, and their embrace grows tighter; his whisper is almost inaudible in the echo of those three tiny little words that hang heavy in the air. But he knows. He _must_ know.

Because this feeling between them—the way they kiss, they way they touch, they way their names are like a summer day the way they leave their tongues—is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because they've had the chance to love and be loved in this short lifetime of theirs, and a curse because tragedy is the only way this dream can ever end. For in this world of theirs, two has a nasty habit of becoming one.

Still locked in their embrace, they sit in silence, soft breath in the quiet air, and two heartbeats if she listens hard enough. Three tiny little words. They meant joy, once.

And when he speaks those three tiny little words back, voice quiet and broken, Mikasa cannot control the sadness from overtaking the joy in her heart. Such a strange place, this world is. Merciless and beautiful in every sense of the phrase.


	10. Monster

**Requested by Anon**

**A/N: Sorry this took so long! School and track have not been kind to my schedule. Thanks for the requests, and thank you so much for reading and reviewing. **

**Warnings: self-destructive thoughts**

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**10. Monster**

The days have long past when monsters dwelled beyond the walls, underneath beds, and lurked in dark corners, when their presence could be banished with a simple flicker of light. It's with time that the monsters began to creep inwards, finding the deepest and darkest desires of his heart and festering there. No simple flicker of light can cast out these demons. Not when they're tethered to his soul.

It's what he doesn't remember that scares him most—the moments when wrath overwhelms conscious thought, when his mind seems to abandon his body. It is with trembling fingers that Eren touches the old gash that runs across her right cheek. Like that. He doesn't remember doing that.

His resolve in himself is beginning to waver. For while there was hope in his towering figure—a chance for a future, a way to fight back—something lurks within him that cannot distinguish between right and wrong, ally and enemy. His strength has become his weakness. He's supposed to harness this beast, not become it.

Eradicate the titans. Every last one. It's only a matter of time before his humanity is consumed, and he can feel himself slipping away bit by bit to this monster within—at what point will he cease to be himself?

He runs his fingers along the familiar horizontal path at the nape of his neck, and he reasons that although two blades are rather unlike a light, they'd still suffice in getting the job done.

But then he feels her hand on his, diverting him from his lateral trail of destruction; she reminds his fingers, instead, of their ten centimeters by one meter vertical counterpart, and her touch tries to remind _him_ that he can be saved, that underneath searing flesh he is human, an entirely separate entity from this physical manifestation of his own rage and pain.

"Despite everything," Mikasa whispers, kissing each of his knuckles, "you are, and always will be, human."

She leaves. She let's him breathe, and she let's him think, because there's only so much a few words and a kiss can do.

Human. In his own experience, he has found that the monsters that are the most human, are the monsters that are the most fearsome.

And when Eren stretches out his hand, he can still feel her lips on his skin.


	11. Breeze

**Prompt requested by Anonymous: Lost**

**A/N: This turned very Shiganshina centric, and I can't say that I have any regrets (though I'm not sure that this quite does what I wanted it to), but I am sorry, Anon, if this wasn't exactly what you had in mind.**

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**11. Breeze**

Lying here like this—the field of grass at their backs, and the limitless sky above—it's easy to forget that they're trapped behind towering walls, easy to forget that the clouds aren't just out of reach.

Armin reads the best out of three of them, and so he is the one to recite the descriptions of the mountains and the deserts, creating rock and sand out of the inky hieroglyphics on the tattered parchment. And where Eren's literacy lacks, his imaginativeness makes up for tenfold, and it is the spoken rather than the written word that serves as his foundation for his stories, and the passing clouds become the illustrations for his visions. Together the two boys weave tales of the world outside to which Mikasa is content to listen.

The hero is ever-changing: cartographer, explorer, escaped convict, abandoned Survey Corps member taken for dead, even the name is seldom the same.

This time, it's the escaped convict—wrongly accused and imprisoned, _of course_—trekking through a forest of eternal rain. Low on ammo, one last bullet in his revolver, to be exact, it's with a spear fashioned out of the elements that he takes out a wild boar, which was originally a camel until Armin reminded Eren that those were only found in deserts.

Mikasa listens as the two boys guide their hero to the river that falls from the cliffs like thunder, as they have him jump canyons and conquer mountains. White, wispy clouds become towering rock formations, and as they float away on the soft breeze, ever so slowly out of sight, the rock formations dissipate back into their original, cottony forms.

"Hey, Mikasa," it's Armin's voice that breaks her from her reverie.

"Where to next?" Eren asks.

"Huh?"

"Where to next? We've been picking the destinations up until now. It's your turn."

"Oh."

It's a harder decision than she thought it would be. The world is so big, and they've visited so much, and it feels as if she has too many choices, and yet too little. They could always revisit a place: one of the islands, or the grassland with the striped horses and the deer with trees for necks—what was it called again? The savannah?—and there were always the sea caves. But she aches to make full use of her turn, to explore something different and new.

And when the revelation hits her, it's no place new, or all that unique in comparison to everything else Armin's book has to offer, but she has confidence in her choice all the same.

"Home," she says. "He heads home next."

She's met with two bewildered stares.

"_Home_?"

Mikasa nods.

"But what's to do _there_?"

Her answer is automatic. "His mother has an apple pie waiting." It takes a moment for her own words to sink in, and when they do, a lump catches in her throat.

By the way Eren and Armin's lips are set in a straight line, it seems that an understanding has hit home.

"He got tired of traveling alone," she adds before lying back down. And there's the light ruffle of grass as the other two join her in sky gazing.

The cloud lazily passing by is circular in nature, the crust appearing crisp despite its less than crisp medium. There's a hint of cinnamon on the breeze. She did always love her mother's apple pie.

"Would you ever do it?" says Armin, "Leave the walls, I mean."

"I plan on it," Eren replies—his voice full of conviction.

He's always been a dreamer. He lives for the future, and sleeps for tomorrow. Like a cloud he's impossible to tie down, so eager to drift away. So very eager to leave them behind.

It's Armin who speaks her mind for her: "Will you miss us?"

Eren's brow crinkles as he processes the question, and his expression only grows sterner as comprehension settles in.

"You guys are coming with me," he says. Because they should know. It's always been that way.

Mikasa's heart flutters like the passing butterfly riding the breeze. And then she joins hands with the boys on either side of her

"Let's get lost in this world," he says aloud, and he flashes that winning grin. "The three of us. Together."

Three heroes off to explore the world. Now that's a story she'd be more than content to listen to—more than eager to create.


	12. Whispers

**"It's the night before Eren, Mikasa, and Armin is to attend the academy; Everyone is asleep except for one scarf-clad girl, sharing the same room as her savior, and she has some words to get off her chest." —_oncomingstorm65_ (tumblr)**

**A/N: Thank you for the request!**

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**12. Whispers**

They don't belong here—none of them do. Not her, not Armin, not Eren, not any of these other kids who've just turned twelve. But Mikasa supposes that this is the nature of war: what is necessary is not always right, and what doesn't belong becomes the norm.

Her mind is racing, and sleep is evasive, a problem all the more frustrating because they're supposed to ship out at five for the academy, and the hour is approaching fast. There's row upon row of sleeping forms lining the floor, soft breath filling the nighttime air along with the occasional shuffle from the restless sleepers, and snoring from the few individuals that do.

A restless mind is caused by a restless heart—at least, that's what her mother used to say—and troubles are best set free through art or conversation if the situation allows.

Mikasa rolls over to the left, facing Eren's sleeping form beside her. He's still wearing his Training Corps jacket that they received at registration.

He snapped at her earlier that day. He told her that if she didn't want to join, she shouldn't just for his sake. He didn't need her to take care of him.

Even now, his words still ring in her ears. Maybe they're the cause of her restlessness tonight. Intrusive little thoughts, their noise chasing away sleep.

And if she could, if she didn't need to preserve the quiet in this room of slumber, if she possessed the courage, she'd ask him for an explanation to why he's always so eager to leave her behind, and she'd tell him why she's so very eager to stay by his side. She'd tell him that they don't belong here, but the three of them—they belong together. And that the latter takes precedence over the first.

But words don't come easily. Not anymore.

"You're all I have left," she whispers ever so softly, taking his hand in her own. "And where you go, I will follow."

His soft, steady breath is all that answers.


End file.
